Friday, July 18th. 76 degrees. No Internet at work. No Wi-Fi which means no phones, no access to requests. I came in to find security wandering around telling me that the security cameras were down.
In order to save data, I am holding off from using my phone though I am using my phone to write this…
I was just thinking about Lick Nattanzio and trying to remember if there was some underhanded dealings that ol’ Lick was affiliated with. Thinking about Lick was from listening to Beginnings by Chicago. Con Jarroll considered them a favorite band and being the snot nosed punk I was (and still am) I would rib him mercilessly about his musical tastes. I am still indifferent to the music of Chicago but do appreciate a handful of their songs.
Con and Lick got along well. I was the odd man out which was a position I would eventually get used to, though 47 years ago it stung a little. Con and Lick could recite Odd Couple skits and they were not interested in my take regarding Plastic Bertrand and Ca Plane Pour Moi.
I had a good call with my brother Brian last night, almost an hour on a range of subjects. HBJ was mentioned since we both worked there albeit at different times.
There is an Asian gentleman sitting a few feet away from me whose live streaming and I seem to be part of his live stream so he’s part of this here blog.
I just had a half an hour meeting with my supervisor, the woman who makes the decisions on how I live my life for the past 3 months. It went well. I didn’t say anything but I did look good on the webcam.
I wrote down the elevator singing I’ll go crazy by James Brown earlier. I was at my desk singing “Skyy Can You Feel Me” by Raphael Saadiq. I am in a good mood, and why not? It is a Friday.
Mike is at my crib. Bill is on the upper west side getting ready for a play, rehearsal they call it and I am outside my building smoking a mini cigar.
I did have a plan to have halal food for lunch but I’ve just been snacking all morning and I’m not really hungry. I am eating just to pass the time, not for hunger so that’s that.
I got to the office this morning and there were two security people there. I asked someone what was going on and they said the security cameras were not working. So that was weird. It should not have any effect, and allowed me to do my job or so I thought without the watchful eye of Big brother.
But as luck would have it there was no internet either so I could not do my job so I sat and read a book at my desk which was fine because I only get a few minutes to read it and the book is picking up. For the past couple of days I thought it was quite dry but it seems to be picking up because I know of the players that are being written about.
I just had a nice phone call with Jimmy Chile; he’s such a good guy, and I made him laugh, which made me smile.
It is actually a gorgeous July 18th. The weather is just fine, not too hot, with a nice breeze, no humidity, which makes me cock an eyebrow.
I asked Gemini for a rewrite as a David Sedaris essay
July 18th, a Friday, and the world, or at least my corner of it, had decided to unplug. Seventy-six degrees outside, but inside, the air hummed with a different kind of static. No internet at work, which meant no Wi-Fi, which in turn meant our phones, those tiny extensions of our very souls, were glorified paperweights. Requests, I imagine, piled up in some digital purgatory, unseen, unheard. I walked in to find **security guards** — looking more bewildered than usual — muttering something about the **cameras being down**. One part of me thought, *Finally, Big Brother’s taken a nap.* The other part immediately wondered if this meant I could get away with more.
—
I’m typing this on my phone, mind you, in a desperate attempt to conserve data, a concept that seems inherently contradictory but makes perfect sense when you’re adrift in the analog world. My thoughts, untethered by the usual barrage of emails, drifted to **Lick Nattanzio**. Lick. The name itself felt like a bad punchline. I was trying to recall if he’d ever been involved in any particularly shady dealings, a memory prompted by the regrettable experience of listening to **”Beginnings” by Chicago**.
Now, **Con Jarroll** considered Chicago a favorite, which, being the snot-nosed punk I was (and, let’s be honest, still am), I used as prime ammunition to mercilessly rib him about his musical tastes. To this day, I remain largely indifferent to Chicago, though I’ll admit, a handful of their songs possess a certain… *something*. Con and Lick, bless their hearts, were thick as thieves. They’d launch into full-blown “Odd Couple” skits while I, champion of **Plastic Bertrand** and **”Ça Plane Pour Moi,”** was left to stew in my own superior musical discernment. It stung a little then, forty-seven years ago, to be the odd man out, but it’s a position I’ve since come to embrace, like a perfectly tailored, slightly ill-fitting suit.
—
Last night, a rare treat: a good, hour-long phone call with my brother, **Brian**. We meandered through a range of subjects, including our shared, albeit separate, stints at **HBJ**. It’s funny how a company can loom so large in your past, even if you never actually crossed paths within its walls.
Right now, an **Asian gentleman** a few feet away is live-streaming. I’m fairly certain I’m now an unwitting extra in his digital production, which means he’s now a character in my own internal monologue, this very blog entry. It’s a strange sort of symbiotic relationship, isn’t it?
I just wrapped up a **half-hour meeting** with my supervisor, the woman who, for the past three months, has held the strings to my daily existence. It went well. I didn’t say much, which is usually a good strategy for me, but I did manage to “look good on the webcam.” One must always be prepared for the performance, even when the audience is just one person on the other end of a pixelated screen.
—
Earlier, I found myself singing **James Brown’s “I’ll Go Crazy”** in the elevator, a private concert for myself and the unfortunate security camera that wasn’t working. Later, at my desk, it was **Raphael Saadiq’s “Skyy Can You Feel Me.”** I’m in a good mood. And why not? It’s Friday. The simplest of reasons, often the best.
**Mike is at my place** – probably making himself comfortable on the sofa, as he always does. **Bill is on the Upper West Side**, caught up in the baffling rituals of “rehearsal” for a play. And I, well, I’m out here, standing outside my building, puffing on a **mini cigar**, contemplating the absurdity of it all.
I’d harbored a vague plan for **halal food** for lunch, but after a morning of incessant snacking, hunger’s a distant memory. I’m just eating to pass the time, not out of any genuine craving. It’s a peculiar way to exist, isn’t it? Consuming just to fill the minutes.
—
The two security people this morning, the non-functioning cameras – it all felt like a scene from a forgotten play. It shouldn’t have affected my work, I reasoned, should have simply been a silent rebellion against surveillance. But then the internet decided to join the strike, rendering me utterly useless. So I did the only logical thing: I sat at my desk and **read a book**. It was a fine way to pass the time, given I usually only get a few fleeting moments to read. The book, which had been as dry as a desert for days, suddenly came alive. I recognized the players, the names leaping off the page, and the narrative finally started to sing.
Just had a lovely call with **Jimmy Chile**. He’s such a good guy, the kind who makes you believe there’s still some decency left in the world. I made him laugh, which, in turn, made me smile. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
And the weather? It’s truly a **gorgeous July 18th**. Not too hot, a gentle breeze, no humidity. It makes me cock an eyebrow, as if the universe is trying to lull me into a false sense of security. But I know better. I always do.